


there's dust in all their hearts

by lechecondensada



Category: The Owl House (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Small Town, Equally Disastrous Bisexual Luz Noceda, F/F, Falling In Love, Flirting, Gay Disaster Amity Blight, Girls in Love, Kissing, Luz is visiting Amity’s small town, Medium Burn, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Suburbia, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, bro what if we had one of those unique connections, bro what if.., no burn at all 🥰🏃...ok maybe a little burn, teen shenanigans, that only come once in a lifetime, watch how much their characters can develop in 10 chaps woah..
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 18:01:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29494005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lechecondensada/pseuds/lechecondensada
Summary: It was June.It was June and she was wearing a billowy pink button-up, and that's the first thing Amity remembers.What they're doing is only a little dangerous.Alternatively,Luz will be able to leave town and scrub herself clean of the suburban silence as soon as the summer ends. Amity won't.
Relationships: Amity Blight/Luz Noceda
Comments: 7
Kudos: 36





	there's dust in all their hearts

**Author's Note:**

> hey shawties..... ily.. drink water.
> 
> not beta read! wrote this at 2 am during a power outage so it might be hella disjointed but enjoy ily...
> 
> (so anyways. this will be continued. why? i listened to lots of mitski today and am now very inspired. next question)

“Bye. Maybe.” 

Amity had never heard someone weaponize words like that before. It sounded like everything. But at the same time nothing at all, and the farthest from dismissive that she's ever heard a goodbye be.

And it’s the first thing Amity remembers about her.

The voice. The words. The attitude.

She couldn’t have been more than sixteen, stepping up to the store counter with a bottle of 7Up in both hands, billowy pink button-up with the sleeves rolled up impossibly high, skin absolutely _everywhere_ , and it might’ve started right then and there:

That shirt.

The way she carried herself about, on the balls of her feet, heels slipping in and out, out and in of her worn plastic sandals, eager to test how hot the linoleum of the store was under her feet, with each stride already screaming, “ _I have all the time in the world, and I want to see it all!”_ and even her fingers moved around in such an eager manner, excitably tapping at the sticky counter, Amity had glanced down at them from behind the cash register, watching the absurdly long receipt print. The buzz of the fluorescents grows louder still, and she opens her mouth to say something.

Until suddenly the girl is taking the receipt from her hands and shouldering the door open.

_She’s going to scuff that shirt._

“Thank you for your purchase,” Amity calls from the counter. The girl throws back a lazy wave goodbye as the door swings shut, and it’s over.

In three short months, the tide would pull her right back out to whatever city she came from, and the girl would never have to worry her pretty little head about this town again, and, oh, how Amity envies her, she watches the girl throw open her car door with a feigned disinterest, and the girl leans into the front seat to yell excitedly at the grey-haired woman in the driver's seat, one foot carelessly stuck out, as if she can’t be bothered to even get her entire body in the car before saying what she has to say, the woman throws her head back and laughs, distinguished, vigorous.

This summer’s fresh batch of tourists. Another annoyance. 

“Em!” Amity yells when the new girl and crew have pulled out of the three-car parking lot, blowing up clouds of dust, “Do we know her?”

Her sister is reclined in a folding chair in the backroom, swiping at her phone and fanning herself against the mean mug of the summer heat with a January issue of _Vogue_. Sliding open the window separating them a bit wider, she flops her arm over to the other side of the store so that she can talk to Amity without having to exert any more energy than she has to.

“No.” A wheeze. She's _so_ dramatic. “It’s too hot to think. She seemed confident.”

“Arrogant, more like.” Amity closes her eyes and thinks back to the girl’s slapdash farewell.

“You literally spoke two words to her.”.

“Your point?” 

Dark curls. Wide grin. The legs sticking out of the car. The excited chatter.

_Hm._

( _Maybe it started then?_ )

“Let’s just see how we get along with her.”

“You’re so weird,” Emira snorts, and slides the window all the way closed, and so Amity goes back to the cash register, fidgets with its grime-covered keys, _clack, clack, clack,_ because what else is she supposed to say?

This is a small town. They’re bound to run into each other eventually. 

And maybe it started soon after the girl's arrival, on one of those quiet nights, when she had lied down next to her on that dusty hardwood floor, and it finally dawned on Amity that laughing wasn't an altogether unpleasant thing to do, or, maybe it did when they took their walk together on the very first day they really spoke to each other, and one thing leading to another, they had ended up floating in the creek, under the warm gaze of the stars, and she had quietly whispered to Amity, “I want to know everything,”, and it was chaste, like the lingering ring in your ears when a firework goes off right next to you, and yet it had told Amity things about her that she had never thought to ask.

Or it might’ve started way later, without Amity noticing at all. Luz had that kind of effect on people. She would put herself out there so effortlessly, and manage to captivate every single person in the room, and before Amity was even aware of it, those three months together that had been offered to them by some unbeknownst force were up and it was time for her to leave, and Amity is left floundering to unscramble the feelings that had shifted from begrudging respect to something that could only really be called a _pull,_ to her smile, to her voice, to _Luz._

...

In actuality, it was that afternoon in the airless general store, when the girl had gently drummed those clever fingers on the countertop, and Amity had wanted, for a brief, short second, to reach out and touch.

That was when it all began.

It still stings today.


End file.
